Your Love is my Drug
by Blackcurrant Bonbons
Summary: John tries to hide his feelings for Sherlock, but fails with some slashy consequences!


**Your love is my drug**

**'What you've got boy is hard to find  
Think about it all about it all the time  
I'm all strung up my heart is fried  
I just cant get you off my mind'**

John Watson stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Black circles sagged under his eyes and his face was gritty with stubble. He sighed. He needed to get more sleep. Or any sleep at all. The nightmares had finally left him, but his mind wouldn't rest. There was always that one person in his thoughts and dreams, ever since that fateful, glorious day at the laboratory, where he had the charismatic Sherlock Holmes. Don't be such an idiot, he thought. He's my flatmate, nothing more. But the conversation at the restaurant kept turning over in his head. He said he doesn't have a girlfriend. Maybe...no. We can never be anything. If he kept thinking like this he'll never be able to look at him the same way again. What was the same though? Sherlock's silky brown locks of hair? His elegant, tapered fingers plucking at his violin? Those melting brown eyes which burn when he's on a case? That panther prowl of his lean, masculine body? And his voice. That deep, lilting music that he had fallen for when the sound had first reached his ears. Sherlock was perfect. Too perfect.

He mentally slapped himself. What was he thinking? He needed to act normally or Sherlock would suspect something was up.

"Mrs Hudson!" he called.

"Yes Dearie?" she tinkled.

"Please can you fetch me some plastic bags, I'm nipping out to the shops now."

"Let me remind you again John, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper!"

He smiled and rolled his eyes. He'd get them himself. But for now, focus. He composed himself, breathed deeply. Act normal, he thought. Striding into the hap hazardous mess that was the sitting room, he observed the curled up figure on the battered sofa that was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was facing away thankfully, in his ever present blue silk dressing gown which was a present from his brother Mycroft. He was staring at the smiley face he'd shot into the wall.

"Going shopping, I presume?" Sherlock spoke without even a greeting.

"Good morning to you too, Sherlock," he stated dryly. "Those eyes still in the microwave?"

"Unfortunately yes, but I got rid of the head out of the fridge. There was a stray dog outside..."

"Please, spare me the detail!"

"While you're there please remember to get coffee, remember I like Nescafe Gold, we're almost out, and you know what I'm like without coffee.

John sighed. Typical. "Why can't you run your own errands for a change?"

"It's one of the joys of having a tidy, respectable ex-Army flatmate. They do all the work for you!"

"Just this once, then you're on your own."

Sherlock nodded in recognition. "Much appreciated. Remember the milk. Semi – skimmed, please.

"Alright, I do have a list, okay! I presume you'll want more nicotine patches? You're on your last one. I can tell."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, I don't use those damnable things anymore. I don't need them."

"You've started smoking again?" He said worryingly. He had asthma.

"No, I just don't need them."

"Okay," John muttered resignedly. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He hadn't appeared to have heard. John shook his head knowingly and picked up the plastic bags, guilty desires spilling out of his head as he left the room.

John struggled up the narrow stairs, overloaded with bursting plastic bags, plodding slowly, but still managing to nearly kill himself twice on the steeps steps. He had to practically ninja kick his way through the flat door, and when he finally arrived, panting and straining, Sherlock was idly watching him, plucking away at his treasured violin.

"Thanks for all the help" he muttered sarcastically.

"I take it you had a good time then?" Sherlock smiled knowingly.

"I did bloody well not! Those bloody check out machines! I hate them!" he seethed.

"Had a fight with a machine again? Grow up John."

"Oh, just piss off!" John huffed past, determined not to look at him, but Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't mean to make you angry." Sherlock looked into his eyes, and he melted. Shivers went down his spine.

"I know. It's o.k. You were only joking. I shouldn't be so serious."

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other.

"Um, Sherlock. You can let go of my arm now. I'm fine."

Suddenly Sherlock pulled him closer. Their foreheads were touching, a lips distance away. John started to breathe heavily. What was he going to do?

"I know how you feel about me. Ever since the restaurant."

Oh god. He'd known since then! John was mortified. What must he think of him?

"I just want to let you know, I feel the same way about."

John gasped, but before he could do anything, Sherlock pulled him closer, arms around him, and their lips met. It was fierce, fiery, desperate passion, so many weeks denying, and here they were. The tongues met, slipping around each other's mouths. John running his fingers through Sherlock thick hair, Sherlock placing tender, sucking kisses all over John's neck. Clothes were ripped off, ripped away with desire, Sherlock's experiments flying everywhere as they lay on the table, Sherlock grinding, John following.

"I want you." Sherlock panted, and John thought exactly the same thing. That moment of entry was pure, sweet bliss; John was blinded by the white light of pure pleasure.

They lay there later, curled up together on the table, in the midst of broken glass and splinters. Sherlock ran a finger down John's spine. He shuddered.

"John?"

Sherlock murmured, gently nibbling his ear lobe.

"Yes?" John restrained himself. Sherlock's voice made him _so_ horny.

"Do you know what I told you earlier, that I didn't need Nicotine patches anymore?"

"Yes."

"I don't need them because your love is my drug."

And then there was pure bliss.


End file.
